Helpless

Carla sighed, looking out the small attic window at the world below. She tried to remember how it felt to have the sun on her face. Or to have the soft sweet-smelling breeze blow through her hair. It had been so long since she dug in the dirt, getting her hands dirty. Frank didn't like dirty. He preferred things to be clean. 

"Everything has a place and everything in its place," she repeated his motto to the walls surrounding her. 

She didn't recall much before this house and him. All she could remember is she had had a family once. A family that traded her to this beast of a man to settle a debt. She screamed for her mother as they drug her away. Tears poured out of her eyes as she watched her parents get in the car and drive away. She was only five. 

Today was her birthday; she was fifteen. Her gift was the attic. She followed her master with her head down as they walked up the stairs. Her eye locked on the woman occupying the space as they walked in. Carla wanted to help her as he drug her kicking and screaming from the room. Frank locked the door, leaving her behind. Screams echoed down the hall as the monster forced the woman from the house. Then suddenly, things had gone silent.  

Carla had stood unsure of what to do until the window caught her eye. There hadn't been a window in the basement, or on the way up to the attic. She ran her fingers across the glass; it had been warm and smooth. Her eyes winced at the brightness. There were shadows in front of her and incomplete images. She could see Frank between the blurs as she blinked her eyes. He loaded something heavy in the trunk. Tossed it off his meaty shoulder as if it was a crum on his shirt. Carla rubbed her eyes. The engine roared as she took one last look, watching him drive away. Was that to be her fate? Would another girl have to suffer as she did? 

Her body lifted the faded red brick again as the images replayed over and over in her mind. She back away from the window into the shadows, reliving her aching eyes. The stream of light from the window lit up the damp corridors she now found herself in. 

Gasping, Carla began to clean. The woman had run around the room, throwing anything she could get her hands on. How could she have done this? Didn't he teach her the rules? If Frank came back, he would blame her for this. He wouldn't care that someone else did it. She grabbed her ribs, wincing in pain. Lifting her tattered pink shirt, Carla ran her fingers over the purple bruise. 

"Everything has a place and everything in its place," she repeated aloud again. 

Carla moved swiftly around the room, arranging and rearranging every little inch of that drably colored space. Standing in the middle of the room, she looked up to the ceiling. He might look there too, she thought. Creating a makeshift ladder, the frantic girl climbed to inspect. Finding the support beam would hold her weight. She sat in the rafters allowing her feet to swing. 

A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered her grandmother pushing her on the backyard's swings. Although she recalled the event, she couldn't place her grandmother's face. There was a void in the memory. It left her heart, aching, open, and raw. 

Climbing down, she stepped toward the light. The colors outside were vibrant and lively. It almost felt as if the world was pulsating. The wind whipt through the trees creating a small howl. Carla couldn't take her eyes off the blue sky that spread out endlessly in front of her. She watched the day sitting in front of that window, admiring the architecture of nature.

Her head sunk to her right shoulder and then to her chest as she let out a heavy sigh. Why did he mean to torture her? She had been doing what she was told, why torment her further by showing her a world she can't touch. It would always be just out of her reach, she told herself. 

"Everything has a place, and everything in its place," she cried.

Her body winced as her mind recalled her beatings as a child. She dared tried more than once to escape, and the whippings she suffered in return got worse each time. Frank always found her when she ran. It seemed he was always one step ahead, often shutting things down before she could get them started. There was no way out. He had always told her that. Her fingers traced over the mashed up ankle he gave her after her last attempt. She couldn't run after that; walking was hard enough, at least for a long time. He was faster, stronger, smarter. She dared only think of freedom a moment before her programmed mind shut it down. 

There was no room for dreaming in this chilly pale hell. She redirected her mind to what she felt was more important. Smoothing the bed covers, she made sure the corners were tucked in nice and neat just the way Frank liked them. The room was similar to the basement and easy enough to drop herself in and take care of the chores she was required to do.

Her stomach growled as she rubbed her hands in circles over it. Escape, she told herself. How was she going to escape if she can't even feed herself? The sky had faded to a glistening orange with peaks and valleys of simple pinks. 

Small twinkling lights broke out of the darkness. They grew larger and more powerful as they closed in, sending shivers throughout Carla's fragile boy. The engine roared as Frank parked the car out front. Carla watched from the window as he eased out of the car and headed into the house. Stairs creaked as he danced up to his prize. The door open and Carla stood waiting like a good girl to be told what to do.